Warcraft: Jouney to the Light
by DragonCount
Summary: Nine adventurers embark on an unforgetable journey, taking them aroun their homeworld of Azeroth to the ruined realm of Outland. The Burning Legion may have been defeated, but now a new enemy awaits, an enemy that could just as well be much more powerful.
1. Chapter 1: Intervention

Warcraft:

Journey to the Light

By Lizard90

Disclaimer: I am in no manner associated with the creation of Warcraft, the races of the series and I do not own any of the areas mentioned in the game. Some minorities may ensue. Also most characters are the property of Blizzard. There are exceptions regarding the heroes of this story.

Author's note: Yes, it's true, a horror fanatic like me writing a fantasy story. How crazy is that?! I'm very sorry to inform to the readers of Heart of Darkness that it will be temporarily discontinued. To the fans of RE: Genome, it will carry on as usual. This will now be marked as my side project while RE: Genome remains as my most important piece of work. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

Chapter 1: Intervention

_Four years have passed since the mortal races banded together and stood united against the might of the Burning Legion._ _Though Azeroth was saved, the tenuous pact between_ _the Horde and the Alliance has all but evaporated. The drums of war thunder once again…_

Azeroth, a world among many created countless millennia ago by the Titans. A world inhabited by mortal races that lived in peace and harmony for generations, until the arrival of the dreaded Burning Legion. Lead by the Dark Titan Sargeras the Destroyer of Worlds and the eredar Kil'jaden and Archimonde, this army of demons from the Twisting Nether brought unimaginable destruction and chaos to Azeroth, erupting into a war that lasted many generations. The war brought a pact between the indigenous humans, dwarves, gnomes and high elves to save their homeland from the demon onslaught. Many were slaughtered, demon and mortal alike.

The Burning Legion had been responsible for the destruction of another world, one known today as the Outland. The native orcs of the once lush and beautiful planet became the brutal puppets of the Legion's dark influence and forced the once honorary orcs to fight their battles. However, during the third and final war, majority of the orcs were set free from the Legion's shackles. Banding together with the natives of Azeroth, the Burning Legion was driven back through the Dark Portal to the ruined Outland and in addition lost one of its most powerful leaders Archimonde.

Despite the prevail of the mortal races, mutual historic hatred and racism drove the two factions into war against each other. The Alliance, consisting of the majority of Azeroth's native races, the noble humans, the adventurous dwarves, the ingenious gnomes, the enigmatic night elves and the honorable draenei, loathes all things demonic or in any relation to such influence stands against all odds to build a bright and lustrous new age. The Horde, consisting of the brutal orcs, the spiritual tauren, the quick-witted trolls, the shadowy undead and the driven blood elves in turn are considered social outcasts who have banded together in hopes of ensuring their mutual survival in a world that loathes them.

War is among the first words a newborn is lead to understand. Countless wars and battles are fought at a common interval between the two ruling factions, several more mortals have lost their lives, but in vain. Peace remains only a dream among many. War has driven greed and conquest to prosper as more lives are thrown away.

However, despite their victory against their mutual sworn enemy, the Burning Legion continues with its ambitions of bringing destruction and ruin to the universe. With the ruined Outland serving as their new undisturbed base of operations, they build up their resources in hopes of starting the fourth war, one which they believe is destined to wipe out the mortal races.

Unbeknownst to the people of Azeroth, an enemy possibly even more powerful than that of the Legion, continues with his own agendas on destroying all who oppose him, be it the Legion itself or the war torn world of Azeroth.

Many adventurers of Azeroth have dedicated their lives to serving and protecting their factions against all who'd oppose to tear them apart, be it the Legion, opposing factions or even from those who wish to destroy their own faction from within. Many of the heroes strive on for greatness. Many have stopped midway, some have grown powerful to oppose the ranks of their worst enemies, many have even lost their lives, or sentenced to a fate worst than death.

But, will any hero of Azeroth be powerful enough to rid it of those who seek to destroy the planet and send it crumbling into the depths of the Nether? This is their story, one which will take once average adventurers and embark them on an unforgettable hurdle, where only friendship and bonding can ensure their success in obliterating the Legion and saving their home-world.

-

Stonetalon Mountains, a rough, barren wasteland that has been under constant turmoil from the days of the great wars to that of the illegal Venture Company taking all of its few resources. This rugged terrain is one of the many nations in Azeroth where not many wish to set their foot, even if they were just passing by. The high peaks offered a great view of the surrounding area, only there was not much to praise seeing as most of the once lush forests had been either burned or cut down, rendering it into a shadow of its former self. Though no longer prosperous and lush, the unforgiving wilderness has carried on its spread across the landscape by picking off of what little nourishment the land offered, be it plant or flesh.

A lone traveler tread quietly through the ruined forest, the smell of dust clogged deep into his nostrils. He looked around the depressing landscape with his bright green eyes, ones which appeared to glow magically in the dimness of the evening sky.

He ran his fingers through his long, auburn hair, trying to rinse some of the dust out. He sighed quietly as he dusted off his blue silken headband before tying it back on. His armor consisted of a heavy bronze breast plate and a pair of two blue toned iron shoulder pads which served as his upper body protection. Underneath the armor he wore a blue ash and dust covered blue cotton shirt, something he considered as the only comfy part of his traveling guise. His shiny steel leggings were held in place by a leather belt topped with several strips of aforementioned material. His feet were adorned with green boots which were partly mail cloth topped with small plates. On his hands he wore a pair or silvery gloves, but they were in terrible need of cleaning judging by the bloody smears. A short, yet very royal-styled red cape flapped behind him in the wind currents.

"Just my luck," he murmured while kicking a small rock off the ground while taking a step, "I could have just taken the wind rider, but then you have to end up being broke again." He murmured, jingling a small leathery pouch which was meant to hold his gold, but all that was left were a few pieces of silver and some copper, something which wasn't going to get anyone far in those parts of the world.

"I certainly hope these goods I found will get me some dough at least," He thought looking at the heavy silken bag he was carrying with him. It held his current loot he'd obtained through hunting down the area's wildlife, having scored a good bundle of thick leather off the wyverns that inhabited the area along with some fine shadowsilk of the local spider community. "Hope the dealers in Ashenvale are interested. It's not every day you find leather like that off bears." He mused, forcing a small smile from his remark.

Through the dimness the lone traveler began to make out shapes. They were dark and blurry, so it was difficult to tell what they were. He took note of possible danger and began to focus on the blurs at all times. After a couple of feet of walking, the dark blurs began to clear, also since they were moving towards him. That's when he made them out. He was approached by three humanoids, much taller than him in stature and had a physique that someone in his race could never obtain. They had heads with short snouts and large bovine horns on their heads. Where their feet were supposed to be were instead by hoofs and they all had long tails with bushy tips. They all bore black fur and were clad in leather armor of the same tone. No one in Azeroth could mistake these things for anything other than tauren, humanoid bovines. But judging by the color of their fur and their display of smirks as a sign of aggression they were none other than members of the notorious Gimtotem Clan.

"Well, well, lookie here." The middle tauren spoke with a gruff voice. "We found ourselves a little elf. A very wealthy looking elf." He added, feeling the blade of his bulky hand-axe.

"Yea, I get that a lot." The traveler responded nonchalantly. "Listen, I don't have much to share for the moment so if you'd mind…" he began to go around the three black bovines, only to have his path abruptly blocked again.

"Well what's in the bag then?" Another tauren asked, his brown eyes fixated completely on the silken sack. "Mind if we have a look?"

The traveler furrowed his brow in annoyance before retorting, "Look I'm trying to get to Ashenvale. I don't have time for punks like you to look through my essentials. Now please…"

"Is that so?" The first tauren interjected. His smug grin had turned to an aggressive frown and the traveler could easily tell his muscles had tensed. "Well, let's say we just take it from you, over your dead body!" The tauren let out an aggressive grunt before swinging his axe horizontally towards the elf, but with unsurpassed grace and agility, the blow was avoided with a backward jump. At that point the two other tauren drew similar axes and began to approach the elfish traveler.

The traveler drew from behind his cape a large saber made of finely crafted steel that had been decorated with a red crest near the hilt with and the blade was the color of reddish orange, a color very notable to only one race in Azeroth.

"You just picked the wrong blood elf to annoy…" The elf growled and charged at the tauren, instantly with incredible speed blocked and incoming blow and kicked the large bovine square in the stomach, causing him to fall to his knees in pain. "Sure you chaps won't reconsider?" He asked rather eloquently, holding the sword with both hands in a basic combat stance.

"To hell with that!" One of the two remaining standing tauren yelled and with a mighty heavy swung the axe at the elf. But just as the axe was about to strike, the weapon was flung out if his hand by an unseen force. In disbelief the bamboozled tauren looked down at his axe and then towards the elf.

"Surprised?" The elf asked raising a brow. Just then he forcefully thrust his palm towards the tauren and a bright flash dropped from the heavens and seemed to strike the tauren down as if he was hit by a boulder. The bovine then lay motionless on the ground.

"He's a frigging paladin!" The leader of the tauren bandits exclaimed upon realizing what just occurred.

The elf grinned daringly at those words. Paladins were warriors bestowed with the powers of the Light, a magical force controlled by the mystical naaru. However, the green glow of this particular elf's eyes added with a weapon consisting of the colors red and orange revealed what his true race was. A blood elf, a survivor of the destruction of the high elf city Silvermoon. Due to their disbandment from the ranks of the Alliance, these once immortal humanoids sided with the Horde in hopes of bettering their chances for survival. Blood elves were well known for being ruthless and unforgiving to anyone who opposed them. The young elf though seeming confident, held deep thoughts of loathe to the foolish bandits who stood against him.

The other tauren who had recovered from the kick to his stomach got up and attempted to grab the much smaller elf from behind, but due to blood elves being two heads shorter to male tauren, it was avoided and in retaliation the blood elf slammed the blunt side of his weapon right into the bovine humanoid's crotch.

"You honestly gotta reconsider next time mate." The blood elf quipped before turning his attention to the bandits' leader. "Let's say we call it a draw and I'll let you and your buddy flee while you're still breathing?" He asked with a hint of arrogance in his voice. "And while he can still have little…"

"Cut the crap!" The enraged tauren roared. "Elf or not, you're dead meat!" he charged towards the elf and did a mighty downward swipe towards the lithe traveler who effortlessly dodged the incoming attack. A tauren had enough strength to smash the likes of elves with a single strike, but their strength came at the price of rendering them slower and clumsier.

Just as the blood elf was prepared for a counterattack, the tauren suddenly wailed in pain. The elf looked to the side to see something big and white pulling on the hapless bandit's tail. The tauren looked back and saw what was yanking forcefully onto his long tail. A white plainstrider, a type of bipedal flightless species of birds found mostly throughout The Barrens was forcefully biting down and pulling on the tauren's tail. The beast had been able to draw blood, but it did little to hurt the tauren any longer as he pulled his tail back from the bird and began to retaliate, but in an instant the bovine stopped dead in his tracks.

Before the elven traveler could figure out what just had occurred, the tauren bandit fell down on his back, the massive bulk of his body managing to shake the earth. The elf looked down on the body and noticed a rugged arrow sticking out of the tauren's chest, one too large for any normal bowman to use. The length of the arrow was around three feet and four inches long and the pole was about a centimeter and a half wide.

"Squatt!"

The elf looked up from the tauren corpse to see another large silhouette, unmistakably it was one of a tauren as well. This tauren unlike the ones that had attacked him was more white and grayish around his face and the only signs of black were on top of his head, forming a thick mane. This tauren was clad also in leather armor, his broad chest guarded by a tanned brown leather coated chest plate, which showed signs of wear. His shoulders were guarded by thick leather pads which also showed signs of wear, probably having seen a few years of usage. He wore blue toned pants, which were sown sloppily shut from the sides. A pair of leather gloves were adorned on his robust three-fingered arms which seemed to have seen less years than the rest of his armor. Very notable features of this tauren was a short strand of fur under his chin, much like a short beard and his right horn seemed to have been cut off, the dimness however made it hard to tell how long ago. The tauren carried an incredibly large club, one made of fine wood which had been charred on the surface and a large block of iron was attached to its tip, decorated with colorful ceremonial beads and rings. The large bovine held a large bow, also fine craftsmanship and carved with shamanistic markings, something the spiritual tauren were very revered of.

The tauren ran up to the plainstrider and stood beside it, "Squatt, how many times have I told you never to run off like that?" He spoke sternly to the bipedal bird, indicating he was its master, so that only strengthened the realization of this tauren being an experienced hunter, warriors of the wild who could tame the great beasts of nature into their loyal companions.

"It's alright. He did a pretty good job with that bandit." The elf spoke with a glance towards the killed tauren bandit. He next turned his attention to the only bandit left alive who was glaring furiously towards the elf and tauren. "I suggest you scram before you'll loose more than your family jewels chap."

The Grimtotem bandit growled in anger before he slowly ran off, the last injury proving it difficult. The elf sheathed his sword and looked back at the tauren hunter.

"I could have handled them myself, but I appreciate the help." He extended a hand. "I'm Joras Sunbreeze, nice to meet you."

The tauren looked at the elf before lightly grabbing onto his hand and nodded, "Daekken Cliffstomper.", to which the elf acknowledged with a nod. "What's a blood elf doing in these parts of Azeroth if you don't mind me asking?"

The blood elf Joras picked up the silken bag he'd dropped during the scuffle and shrugged, "Heading for Ashenvale. I'm trying to find someone to sell some off this loot I'd found. I would have flown otherwise, but they were out of wyverns back at Shadowprey."

The tauren Daekken nodded understandingly. "I'm just here for the thrill of the hunt, and to be close to nature." he spoke, looking around the ruined landscape. "But it seems the blessings of the Earth Mother were marred here."

"Indeed. Wretched Venture Company…" Joras spat, referring to the illegal foresting and mining corporation which had done much damage around Azeroth, the homeland of the tauren being one of the unfortunate ones. Recently he'd heard the Venture Co. had bee chased out of the grassy plains of Mulgore by mutual agreement of the Orish Warchief Thrall and the chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof of the tauren. "I come as I go, looking for adventure, trying to find my purpose."

Daekken chuckled heartily before placing his bow around his broad shoulders. "I can relate."

"Daekken!" The two heard a voice from afar, though bit low in pitch, it sounded very much female.

Another, much slimmer silhouette came running from afar, occasionally stumbling on a root or even a stone. By the time the newcomer was close enough to be identified, she tripped and fell face forward on the ground. Daekken sighed from embarrassment, rubbing the back of his head, his pet Squatt looking at his master as if from sympathy. Joras looked down at the prostrated and possibly passed out person. She was a very sleek build, had purplish hair tied to a high ponytail, greenish skin and appeared to have only three fingers and only two toes and her feet were exceptionally long. It was easy to figure she was that of the Darkspear trolls, a group of shady and quick-witted humanoids loyal to the Horde. She was clad in what looked like a skirt and a leather top exposing her midsection decorated by shamanistic symbols. Other notable pieces of clothing were a pair of ritualistic leather bracers and a golden bracer worn around her left bicep. She appeared to be carrying a leather flask, the contents however unknown to him and a pair of maces fashioned to look like skulls were strapped onto her waist.

"Okay…" Joras spoke uneasily. "You know this passed out prostitute?" He asked raising a brow.

"Unfortunately I do." Daekken groaned in annoyance. "Her name's Valaj. I've been what you could say 'babysitting' her. The poor thing's absolutely helpless without someone to tag along with." He explained.

"So she's crocked isn't she?" Joras asked, the concept of seeing an actual alcoholic being rather new to him. Back in his home, the great city of Silvermoon, drunks and alcoholics were very rare. Blood elves often enjoy high class living, including the consumption of fine wines and such, but bar fights and passed out people on the city streets were very uncommon. They had been having troubles with the occasional drunk orc or troll, but never those of their own race, the Forsaken due to their lack of a need to drink and the tauren who were not known well for drinking.

"Exactly," Daekken confirmed with a nod. "She's been following me for days now, but I can't just abandon her, not like this…" He lifted the sleek troll on his shoulder and began to carry her. But before he had taken more than four steps he turned back to Joras. "You say you were heading for Ashenvale wasn't it?" He asked.

"That is affirmative." Joras replied as he checked the two killed tauren's persons for any money or possible items to sell.

"Why not join me? I've set camp just over that hill and I have some food, if you're interested." Daekken spoke.

Joras normally would have turned down such offers, preferring to travel in privacy, but the thought of getting some morsels was sounding very appealing at the time being. He hadn't eaten for a few days after arriving from Desolace since he was not much of a successful hunter or cook for that matter. The only source of nourishment he had was a half empty flask of moonberry juice, not anythin satisfying to a weary wanderer.

"Sure, why not?" Joras replied with a shrug. "I could use some company after a while." He concluded and willingly followed his new hospitable acquaintance.

-

Deep in the radiant streets of Exodar, the most unnaturally radiant realm ever seen on Azeroth, a lone draenei walks through the bustling streets of the gigantic dimensional ship, not willing to look around as the several fellow draenei interacted with each other and various other races of the Alliance. The particular draenei needn't look to figure the place had gradually begin to teem with humans, dwarves, gnomes and even night elves going through required business such as bartering, bidding at the local auction house for treasures found around the world so alien to the draenei.

The particular draenei was a hulking male, ones that had a body size almost comparable to the tauren and was clad in a bright suit of heavy armor, the shining environment making him appear as if he was glowing. His left eyes shone of white while the other was covered by a black eyepatch which also covered some signs of scars. Like most males, he had a head with forehead plates, his being rather large as when looked at from the front, they almost completely masked his pale brown hair which was kept tied in a long high ponytail. He also had two short tendrils on his chin, another trait very common to those of the draenei. Unlike most races that bore feet, the draenei, both male and female bore two-toed hooves and all draenei had short tails and a skin tone from different shades of blue to violet. The particular draenei's skin was a bright blue tone.

Females of the draenei were very different when compared to the males. They stood about a foot shorter, around the height of an adult female night elf, which was around seven feet. They were considered as graceful and elegant as elves, but the similarities ended with them having horn-like appendages on the sides of their head, all differing in length and shape.

The Exodar was very unusual in comparison to all other cities in Azeroth. The city itself had been constructed from the largest husk of the dimension traveling ship. After the ship's unexpected crash landing about six months ago the draenei onboard took the liberty of making it their permanent sanctuary on the alien world they now lived in. The ship's interior looked as if it had been made completely out of crystals, all shining in different shades of purple, blue and pure white. The Exodar had from then on been split into four different sectors which served different social activities such as bartering, living and religion.

The draenei continued to walk briskly through the crowds of people, many stepping aside upon realization of his rank. As if a holy energy emanated from this particular being more intensely than most others. Also the large weapon he carried on his back was proof of his position in the draenei civilization. It was a long mace, one with a bluish-green pole-handle and many sharp crystals that glowed a mysterious purple shine were attached to the very tip of the pole by a metallic ring. Only the high ranking draenei paladins were issued with weapons such as that.

He continued on until he reached his destination, the Vault of Lights, the residence of the ones in charge of all the draenei along with the holy priests and paladins. Upon entering the most intact chamber of Exodar, the lone paladin was greeted by a single female draenei, a high ranking priestess in a pure white robe. The paladin knelt before her in respect.

"It's a pleasure to see you again captain Gilgatt." The priestess spoke, "You may stand."

"The Divine summoned me," Gilgatt replied as he stood back up. "What may be of his concern?"

"Alas I'm afraid you will have to leave the sanctuary for a mission of utmost importance my dear friend." The priestess spoke authoritatively. "It had come to our attention regarding our enemies."

Gilgatt's eyes furrowed upon the priestess' words. "You mean the Legion?" He gasped.

"Not exactly. It's those blood elves." the priestess spoke bitterly. "We need to find out how those filthy scums have gained the very power the naaru offered us so long ago. We are short on manpower due to our activities on Draenor, so the high council has wished for your aid in this alleged mystery."

Gilgatt bowed in response. "It will be my honor. For the Divine and for the naaru."

"We have arranged transportation to Darkshore. You must travel to the Eastern Kingdoms and log any information you come across. I advise you approach the very land of Quel'thalas, since that is where those heathens dwell as I'm sure you know." The priestess instructed.

"Of course," Gilgatt replied strongly. "I will carry out my duties and I won't return until they're fulfilled." Gilgatt turned to leave.

"Wait." The priestess interjected. "We do not doubt your power Gilgatt, but not even you can make it all the way to Quel'thalas by yourself." The priestess explained sincerely. "Our allies have however taken note of a certain warrior of our allies who will be very much of use to us." Just then the priestess held out a scroll to Gilgatt who took it instantly. "This is an official order of the council to assist you Gilgatt. His current location has been identified as the Ashenvale forest. Once you arrive at Darkshore, we want you to head straight for Ashenvale and find this warrior."

Gilgatt scoffed at the thought, but as an honorary guardian of the Divine himself, he had no choice but to comply. "So who is this warrior?"

"Rumors say he's one of the most powerful fighters in all of Azeroth. Sources indicate he's slain hundreds of lives of beasts, demons and the Horde alike. He goes by the name of Joldis Deathscythe, he's a night elf warrior who supposedly wields one of the most powerful weapons on Azeroth. A typical vagabond if you may." The priestess explained, but instantly noticed the look of disbelief on Gilgatt's face. "Something wrong Captain?"

"You're saying I need to seek help from a night elf?!" Gilgatt retorted furiously. "We can't just go up and place our trust in them! They don't even appreciate the…"

"Captain Gilgatt!" The priestess snapped. "We have been through this conversation before! The night elves may not bow to the Holy Light, but we must accept them and all others as our allies and companions if we're ever to permanently wipe out the Legion. They were the first to introduce us to the Alliance and we must respect that deed! Now go and seek out sir Deathscythe unless you want the council to hear of this!" The priestess said threateningly.

Gilgatt growled silently in contempt, but honorably bowed his head, "My apologies. I will be off now."

The priestess nodded in satisfaction, "May the Light be with you captain."

Gilgatt nodded gratefully and began to head for the exit to the surface of Azeroth. However, as soon as he'd left the Vault of Lights, he began to grimace from the additional orders he was just assigned with by the council.

"This is outrageous…" He thought as he angrily tread through Exodar's streets once again. "I simply don't understand the point of allying ourselves with those who don't wish for the sanctity of the Light." Doing his best to control his anger, he looked down on the ground so that his fellow people wouldn't catch one of their captains behaving unorthodox to the draeneis' vows. "I'll accept their orders for now, but once I return from this mission of exposing those fiendish blood elves' ambitions, those not trusting the Light will also suffer greatly…"

-

Joras yawned tiredly as he sat leaning onto the mountain's wall. The warmth of fire had miraculously relaxed him as he was frying a small piece of meat on the end of a stick, which was supplied by his new tauren acquaintance Daekken who sat left to the fire, busy cutting pieces of meat for his pet Squatt. Opposite of Daekken laid the still passed out troll girl Valaj, who had been out cold during the entire stroll to Daekken's set-up camp.

It was very uncommon for Joras to be camping with anyone. This was one of few exceptions regarding he had almost no money or essential resources. He took a quick glance at his piece of meat to see if it was cooked enough, but it still showed several signs of red. He popped the cork of his flask and took a big gulp of moonberry juice and carried on being silent.

Daekken tossed a handful of chopped bits of meat to Squatt who instantly began feasting on them. The tauren in turn saved a small piece for himself and began cooking it on the end of a stick. Both stayed silent for a short while until they heard groaning. They both looked at Valaj who had began to turn in her sleep. The troll's eyes weakly fluttered open. She had a really young face with no scars, wrinkles or gashes anywhere and her tusks were very small compared to most female trolls. Her tusks barely managed to protrude from her mouth.

Valaj groaned as she tried getting up from the ground, but felt too drowsy to do so and fell back on the ground. "Ugh… ma noggin…"

As soon as Squatt noticed movement in Valaj, he began to squawk at her and furiously flutter its vestigial wings. Daekken took a light hold of the bird's lower neck, which instantly calmed it down, earning an impressed glance from Joras who wasn't very keen on the bond between a hunter and their pets.

"What got into him?" Joras asked raising a brow and at the same moment checked up on his meat, which had become completely dark brown. He shed off his armored gloves and finally took a bite out of the meat.

Daekken chuckled at the thought, "Would you believe she thought Squatt was lunch?" He asked as he once again had to restrain the angry Squatt from attacking Valaj.

Joras snickered a tad before fully swallowing the thought piece meat. "That would be a good enough reason as any." He commented before taking another bite.

Just then Valaj began to look seriously ill as her face turned even greener than it naturally was. In an instant the troll hopped on all fours and threw up on the rocky ground, eliciting a disgusted groan from Joras who began to lose his appetite. Daekken in turn sighed having to put up with the troll in the first place. After another shorter hurl, the troll went into a coughing fit before finally stopping and sat up back straight.

Valaj spat some remaining bile in her mouth before drowsily looking up at Daekken. "Hey Daekken… w'ere are we?" She spoke in the common Trollish accent.

"Stonetalon Mountains." Daekken promptly replied as he checked up on his helping of food. "We came here just two days ago or did you already forget?"

"I t'ink so…" Valaj replied in a zoned out manner. "But mon, dat wa' some crazy dream…"

"And it would be best you not go into details…" Joras blurted abruptly before biting off a larger piece of his helping.

"Oh, Joras, you should probably be wary of Valaj…" Daekken suddenly spoke almost gravely.

"What? I'm supposed to be scared of a hung-over prostitute?" Joras asked nonchalantly.

"Well, I ain't exactly a prostitute, but you can call me dat." The two men heard the troll say, causing Joras to spit a mouthful of meat right into the campfire dumbstruck. He worriedly glanced at the troll woman, who seemed to be giving him the eye.

In an instant Joras scooted next to Daekken and sharply whispered, "If I make it through this Daekken, you're so going to owe me for putting up with that!"

"That's what I was trying to warn you about." Daekken replied calmly. "Valaj has this habit when it comes to men…" His words made Joras want to make a run for it.

"By 'habit', what do you mean?" Joras asked uneasily, taking another frightened glance towards the troll who continued to leer at him. Daekken whispered something into his ear, which made Joras look up at the tauren in horror. "You mean…" Daekken nodded sadly. Joras tensed up as he carefully scooted over to his possessions. "You're really going to owe me…" He warned jerking a finger at Daekken before he eventually calmed down, avoiding any eye contact with Valaj.

"So what's a handsom' guy like you doin' all da way out 'ere?" Valaj asked with interest.

"That is none of your business." Joras replied sternly before finishing his meal and tossing the stick into the fire. He once again popped open his flask and took a swig to help wash it down.

"Are you single?" Valaj asked again.

"That too is none of your business." Joras replied more sternly while putting his gloves back on, looking through them for any serious structural damage.

"Are you a virgin?" Valaj asked yet again, eliciting an exasperated growl and wince from Joras.

"Don't you ever shut up wench?" Joras asked deeply annoyed as he looked over the rest of his equipment and personals.

"Umm, lessee… nope?" Valaj asked teasingly and winked, instantly finding a sword pointed at her face, but it didn't even make her budge. On the other end of the sword was an enraged blood elf whose eyes began to glow darker from his anger.

"If you don't stop asking me pointless questions about my personal information, winking at me, leering at me and if you even think of approaching me like that, I swear I'll cut you in two!" Joras roared furiously.

"Well I'm t'inking about it now…" Valaj admitted sheepishly.

"Tell me, do you have magical properties?" Joras asked with a malevolent grin.

"Yea," The troll replied absentmindedly, something Joras wasn't expecting from such a lowly individual, but was grateful for that as he pointed his palm towards Valaj. Valaj raised a brow before a blue stream of energy shot out from her body and became sucked into Joras's palm. In an instant the troll was once again unconscious.

Daekken having experienced such a feat seldom raised a brow in surprise. "Did you just drain her magic?" He asked.

"Yes, but don't worry. She should wake up in a short period of time." Joras assured as he felt the energy course through his elven veins. "Besides, I got her to shut up and I can last a while now." Joras mentioned, referring to the very curse all blood elves carried: the arcane addiction.

Ever since the destruction of the high elf city of Silvermoon and the Sunwell, the very core of the elves' power by the undead Scourge, all of the elves had become addicted to the mystical well's powers. To this very day the blood elves tended to keep their addiction in check by draining magical properties from other sources, one which includes other people with magical powers. Just then Joras decided to bring up an interesting question.

"Tell me Daekken, how is it that some lowly washed-up prostitute could possess magical properties?" He felt the surge in his body disappear at last. "And in such a large scale…"

"I guess the markings didn't tell you anything?" Daekken chortled amusedly. "Don't you see the runes on her bracelets and garments?" He asked pointing at Valaj.

Joras looked closer now that the flirtatious troll was incapacitated and not to mention unconscious. He took note of some elegantly carved symbols and markings expertly carved into her leather bracelets and the golden bracer around her bicep. Also her top was decorated by various ancient markings, some of them seeming familiar. He then took a glance at the two skull-shaped clubs Valaj carried on her belt. The skulls themselves were also filled with the same kind of carvings.

"You're not saying this slut's a shaman are you?" Joras asked dumbfounded of his realization and the answer to why he was able to drain magic from Valaj in the first place.

Daekken nodded before answering, "It's true. You mustn't forget we tauren also practice shamanism. I could tell if a person is a shaman without even looking." He claimed non-boastingly, giving the impression of being a very sincere person.

"Figures," Joras murmured. He carried on inspecting his sword. So far it had some dried bloodstains and the blade had begun to feel sticky from use, indicating that he'd have to have it cleaned eventually.

Daekken in turn began to look up into the darkened sky in thought. It didn't take long for Joras to discover the lack of activity and looked up at the tauren hunter.

"Something on your mind?" He asked curiously.

"Not really," Daekken replied. "Just looking at the stars."

"Right," Joras nodded, "I do that too. Ever since my parents died."

"The feeling is mutual my friend." Daekken responded sympathetically. "I lost my family to the centaur when I was only a child. But I know their spirits are always with me. I'm never alone even in the most barren, most distant places in all of Azeroth."

"Well good for you…" Joras replied tiredly. "You think my family's around me?"

"Most certainly Joras." Daekken replied glancing at Joras.

Joras looked up into the sky himself, thinking back to the prosperous age of his people, back before he was even fully matured. He remembered how the infernal Scourge invaded the beautiful city of Silvermoon and began to maul and rip apart any elf that got in their way. It was like a tidal wave of death that swept across Quel'thalas. The forests began to wither and rot, the air smelled of rotting flesh and blood that day. Joras was left all alone to flee from the merciless monsters that had torn his parents into shreds. As soon as the Scourge entered Silvermoon, disaster struck as the giant explosion engulfed the city, incinerating all within its walls. Less than eighty percent of the entire high elven population survived the onslaught. The elves eventually prevailed from the return of Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, who ordered the forests of Quel'thalas burned in order to stop the spread of the undead Plague. That was when the high elves, now with only a fragment of its former glory became known as the blood elves after the death of almost all of their people.

The blood elves remained loyal to the Alliance and regrouped in the magis city of Dalaran to aid in fighting off the Scourge, but due to the vast number of the undead legions, the elves had no choice but to ally themselves with the naga led by Lady Vashj. That was enough to light the sparks of hatred as the humans imprisoned the entire blood elven civilization and were ordered to be executed. The naga in retaliation freed the elves and led them to safety in the torn world of Outland. That was the time the blood elves swore allegiance to their new master who promised them a new source of energy to feed their arcane addiction. This new master was a half-demon Illidan Stormrage, known also as the Betrayer.

With the majority of the blood elves leaving off into the vast interdimensional world of Outland, the rest returned to Azeroth. But now with the Alliance shunning them for their new allegiance to Illidan and his naga, the blood elves looked to the Horde to ensue their survival and perhaps with it's help they could rejoin their Prince in Outland one day.

However, the Horde was not fully convinced whether to allow the blood elves to become part of the Horde or not. The orcs, trolls and tauren in particular were quite wary despite the orcs understanding of hardships, something which their race had gone through for generations. The tauren, despite their beliefs in all living things deserving their chances, were appalled on the blood elves resort of draining magic from other living things. The trolls of course being wary of all they're not too familiar with regarded the blood elves as trustworthy as the Forsaken who they don't fully trust even to this day. The Forsaken were the only faction fully approving the blood elves due to their mutual nemesis the Scourge which they fought regularly in their own homelands and due to the fact of their Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner having been a high elf herself before joining the ranks of the undead.

That was when Joras's big chance in redeeming himself arrived. Joras was among many adventurers who aided the Forsaken in wiping out the Scourge from the burned portion of Quel'thalas, known today as the Ghostlands. The Scourge in that part of Azeroth was led by the undead elven mage Dar'khan, a traitor to the high elven race who led the Lich King's forces into Silvermoon City. Joras took the liberty of joining a diverse group of fighters bent on slaying Dar'khan to bring his deeds to justice. Upon infiltrating the lair of Dar'khan, they were almost immediately ambushed by the Scourge. They all fought valiantly for their lives, their people and their hopes, vanquishing the rotting legions of the dead. Many fell in the first struggle, but it left the lair almost devoid of any other forces. Or so it had seemed on the outside. As they did a precautionary sweep of the area while rescuing a few captives from the clutches of the Lich King's Cult of the Damned, they weren't prepared for the second wave of attack which came from the numerous necromancers positioned all around Dar'khan's tower. Many more fell in the struggle, a few being saved even from death itself by the few paladins brought along which included Joras. However, the magic required to awaken the recently passed took a large toll on them. The final assault was finally made as the adventurers barged into Dar'khan's tower. The moment they laid eyes on the former archmage, the first frontline combatants were immediately dispatched and before anything could be done, the wretched necromancer brought them back as a new addition to the Scourge and laughed as the adventurers fought off against their former comrades. The biggest body count had come from that as Dar'khan could hardly be touched with his mindless undead puppets protecting him from the approaching fighters. It was beginning to look vain, until Joras was finally within strike range of Dar'khan. While the rest of his fellow adventurers were preoccupied with keeping the Scourge at bay, Joras was left to fight against the wicked necromancer alone. Dar'khan's shadow magic, despite Joras having the power of the naaru surging through his body, proved almost unstoppable for the paladin until Joras was capable of shielding himself from Dar'khan with a shielding spell. Dar'khan however had remained as overconfident as he was back then when he was among the living, and was sure to finish Joras off with a more concentrated blast of shadowbolts, which he had no troubles performing due to his undead minions keeping the remaining fighters at bay. Just then Joras found the chance to utilize a power the blood elves had learned from utilizing their need to drain magic. Blood elves also possessed the skill to expel magical energies from their body, thus interfering other beings' magical powers in the process. That was just enough time for Joras to go on the offensive as he performed several complex sword strikes that Dar'khn had trouble defending against. Eventually Joras prevailed by decapitating the traitor. That was when Joras finally got a chance to take a breather before forcefully gripping Dar'khan's severed head and began an arduous hike back to Silvermoon City with the remainder of his fellow adventurers in tow.

After the long and painful march to Silvermoon City, Joras went and presented Dar'khan's head to Regent Lor'themar Theron, the leader of the blood elves living in Azeroth. Shortly after Joras's time of recovery, he was presented with the task of aiding the blood elves in becoming fulltime allies to the Horde. He along with the remaining individuals that survived the attack on Dar'khan's lair first however had to get the approval of their closest allies', the Forsaken, leader Sylvanas Windrunner. It was that time when Joras finally met the Banshee Queen, who unbeknownst to most had once been an old friend of Joras back when Sylvanas was leading the Silvermoon City Farstriders. Despite her seemingly cold disposition, a pendant Joras had found when battling the minor Scourge minions seemed to have a powerful effect on her. That was when Sylvanas for the first time showed a compassionate side during the long years of being among the undead. Her approval was obtained and then came the next stop, the Orcish city of Orgrimmar. The Warchief was indeed impressed from the feats accomplished by Joras and his band of adventurers. By just crumpling the declaration for the allegiance and saying, "Welcome to the Horde!" it was done.

Upon the triumphant return to Silvermoon City once again, the joyous news raising the hopes of Silvermoon's civilians. In an expression of gratitude, Regent Theron wished to promote Joras into the high ranks of the Blood Knight faction for his help in joining the blood elves to the Horde, but Joras gratefully turned it down. Instead he'd wished his companions were praised, his reasons being that he didn't feel as though he'd been redeemed yet. With that, Joras went on his way to wander Azeroth, hoping to one day have his sins forever forgiven…

"Something wrong?" Daekken asked, snapping Joras from his deep thoughts.

"No. I was just reminiscing." Joras simply replied before taking another gulp of moonberry juice. "I guess thoughts turn deep when you're tired." He said assumedly.

"That is true." Daekken nodded. "I myself however haven't spent much time sleeping at any time in my life. It's a hunter's requirement to remain wary and vigilant in the wilderness. Only when among civilization do I allow myself to sleep as deep as I possibly could. Out here in Earth Mother's realm, most of my resting time is spent in reminisce…" He patted Squatt who had sat next to him affectionately. "Me and Squatt always take turns in guard duty every night."

"Well, I suppose I myself will call it a day." Joras announced as he leaned next to the mountain's wall and pulled his headband over his eyes. "Wake me if anything happens, Daekken." He informed before falling asleep with his sword held tightly over his lap.

Daekken continued looking up at the darkened sky, deep in thought. He occasionally stopped to tend to the camp fire which was the only source of warmth and light for that night below the stars. He made sure once more that his large mace was close to him at all times, him being the first line of defense should anything attack them in the night. Just then a rush of wind blew over the valley. The wind wasn't strong enough to blow out the campfire, but it was enough to make Daekken feel a chill through his thick fur.

"The spirits seem restless." He thought. "I sense an omen…"

-

Gilgatt had at last arrived in the night elven city of Auberdine in the shores of Darkshore. A duo of female night elf guards saluted the draenei with respect, but Gilgatt took little interest to it as he proudly walked past them, his armor casting a dim glow under the moonlight.

His mission now, no matter how repulsive, was to please the Divine, even if it meant a temporary allegiance with the infamous night elf warrior Joldis Deathscythe. He looked at the scroll given to him by the priestess, which happened to contain a picture description of the night elf. The picture gave him the impression of any night elf he'd seen during his stay on the alien world of Azeroth.

"Once this foolishness is over, it will be their time to pay for turning down the Light…" He thought bitterly, all of a sudden a rush of wind blowing through the small town, making his long hair sway in its currents.

-

She felt the sudden rush of wind even through the thick vegetation of Ashenvale Forest. It was felt through her bright red hair, which swayed elegantly in its currents. Looking off into the horizon from atop the guard tower of Splintertree Post, she breathed in deep, closing her eyes in thought. She looked up into the darkened skies.

"Are you drawing close, Joras?" She whispered softly, looking at the silver ring worn on her right arm's middle finger. She brought her other hand to here heart in anticipation of seeing the one she thought of every day.

She then looked down next to her to the radiantly colored beast sleeping next to her. The body of a serpent, the head of a dragon and large bright wings with a body tone of bright orange was the best way to describe the creature. She gently pat the creature on the head in affection, earning a happy purr-like response form the snoozing creature.

"I just know I'll see you soon my love. I just know it." She thought and continued staring at the star filled night sky.

-

Deeper in the forests of Ashenvale, a lone man sits under a makeshift tent made of old ragged hides and a few worn sticks. He looked into the area just over the river. It was the dreaded realm known today as Felfire Hill, one of the many areas in Azeroth still contaminated by the corruption of the Burning Legion due to their lost remnants residing there. For three days this man had been sitting and waiting, occasionally sneaking past the enemy lines to see what the demons in the hellish woods were up to. Up to now he'd seen their activities growing hasty. Several Infernals had been recorded to be produced up the Felfire Hill, likely the work of the head honcho demon who resided within.

He continued keeping a close eye on the random demons moving through the area, spotting several Fel Guards, Succubi, Fel Hounds and tons of Infernals, undoubtedly freshly made. At the same time he sharpened a finely crafted dagger, one with a golden hilt and a curved blade, a weapon perfect for causing grieving wounds with a single slash. He'd occasionally by accident cut into his finger, but it did little to bother him, seeing as his fingers were nothing more than bone, having taken the impression of claws.

All of a sudden he felt the ground beneath him shake. In an instant his tent was demolished as a gigantic axe came down upon it, leaving nothing but torn leather and snapped poles. The man drew a second dagger from a sheath on his back before turning to face his assailant. It was a large bulking humanoid that had dark blue skin and stood several meters taller than the person it was attacking. It's legs and left arm were covered in bulky plate armor and on its head it wore a large, spiked helmet only a creature of its size could wear. These characteristics made it identified as a Fel Guard, common forces of the Burning Legion which were feared for their ferocity and brute strength.

The Fel Guard brought its axe down again, but the man quickly sidestepped it. In retaliation the man in one swift motion took a long piece of garrote string and wrapped it around the demon's wrist, greenish demonic blood instantly bursting from the Fel Guard. The demon let out a furious roar and swung with a horizontal sweep, but the man merely hopped over it. The strain however forced the garrote string embedded in the demon's wrist to draw more blood as it sunk deeper into its flesh.

Now with the perfect opening, the man hopped and drove one of his daggers under the demon's helmet, staining its head along with his dagger and bony fingers in green blood. The demon shook and attempted to continue its assault, but the damage to its brain was grave enough and the demon died within seconds.

The man yanked his once shiny dagger from the demon's skull and looked down on it, the gore not doing as much as making him feel sick. He then looked back into Felfire Hill, now feeling that the Warchief's expectations were not false at all.

"Hmm, those things are really gonna go through with it aren't they?" He wondered. He sheated his daggers and began treading to Splintertree Post where he was to report of the demons' activities. "If those things attack now, it could lead to the Legion returning once again to Azeroth. I gotta prevent it before it's too late." He thought determinedly.

-

A/N: Well that's my first installment for WoW: Journey to the Light. I know this first chapter felt kinda stale, but it will get better. I mean, don't all of my works have that habit? Anyway, I haven't been that active this time around now that I'm in high school and I'm also in the middle of a 'character creating contest' in deviant art. This from now on will be my side project, so Heart of Darkness is just going to have to be postponed for now. Hope you fantasy nuts will enjoy this as much as I did writing it. Keep on rocking!


	2. Chapter 2: Uncanny Allegiance

Warcraft

Journey to the Light

Chapter 2: The Uncanny Allegiance

In the night sky high above the lush Ashenvale Forest flies a single mounted Hippogryph. Hippogryphs were the well renowned creatures used for aerial transport by the night elf and recently the draenei since the night elves were the first race to greet them after the crash landing of Exodar. These graceful beasts had a body similar to that of a horse, their backside of their body very similar to them with hoofed legs and a horse's tail. The front side in turn resembled that of a bird of prey with a long pointed beak and its front legs were also sharp talons. The also had a remarkable characteristic of bearing a pair of antlers on their head and were often an exotic color of greenish or bluish.

Sitting on the back of the hippogryph was none other than Captain Gilgatt of Exodar. The proud draenei was commencing the first part of the Divine's mission of tracking down the alleged night elf manslayer Joldis Deathscythe. Though Gilgatt felt confident about carrying his entire mission alone, his loyalty to the Divine and the Naaru kept him restrained from such acts, especially since they were orders from the council itself.

"Stupid hippogryph…" He murmured as the winged creature flew in an unbalanced manner due to it being smaller than the ones used by draenei. "Couldn't those damn elves just switch over to gryphons so at least _we_ could fly safely in their lands?" He grumbled, admitting the night elven lands were quite elegant.

It took some time until the hippogryph landed in the night elf sanctuary Astranaar, a small town built onto a small island in a lake. As soon as Glagatt dismounted from the Hippogryph, the large quadruped hobbled until collapsing into a straw filled cot. Gilgatt shook his head in disdain towards the creature before approaching one of the Sentinel Guards.

"You! Night elf woman!" Gilgatt exclaimed, getting the female guard's attention. He presented the sketch of Joldis Deathscythe forcefully before asking, "Have you seen this man?"

The Sentinel took the sketch and looked over it carefully until coming to her conclusion. "Ah yes, Sir. Deathscythe." She affirmed with a nod. "He left just this evening."

"Great," Gilgatt grumbled snatching the sketch back. "Now I have to go looking for him in this Light forbidden forest…" He spoke audibly enough for the Night elf to hear and look at Gilgatt in disgust.

The sentinel thought up of a quick prank in retaliation for the hulking draenei belittling the night elves' sacred forestlands. "Actually, if you follow the path in the back of the village you might just catch up with him." She said in fake honesty.

Gilgatt instantly perked up a tad in response. "Thank you for your cooperation." He replied briefly before making his way to the aforementioned path. The Sentinel snickered in amusement as Gilgatt was far enough to not hear her.

-

He hurriedly dismounted from his wyvern upon landing in the flight tower of the city of Orgrimmar, the capital city of the orcs and Darkspear trolls. The strange man with rotting characteristics began to hurriedly run towards the Valley of Wisdom through the bustling streets of the large Horde city. He bumped into others several times, earning a retort, hopped over other people and even clung onto the wooden wall of the local gun shop and climbed his way around the crowds. With not even hint of fatigue in his gray, decaying body, the man continued racing against time.

"Hello there. Would you be interested in the latest selection of unique poisons? Straight from Stranglethorn I might add." Said a goblin barterer informatively to the man.

"I don't have time for this!" The man retorted with a raspy voice and simply hopped over the much smaller goblin.

"Cheapskate…" The goblin murmured, but it all fell upon deaf ears.

The man still carried on, not even looking exhausted as his bony legs rapidly pummeled the ground underneath them. Luckily he'd memorized the map of Orgrimmar from his first visit there and knew exactly where to head. After passing the shady Cleft of Shadow, he arrived in the very core of Orgrimmar, the Valley of Honor where the Grommash Hold stood.

The man entered the large hold, getting glimpsed by the orcish guards and several shamans within its walls, but he paid no attention to them whatsoever. He continued walking through the halls until he came to the throne room. There atop his throne sat the mighty Thrall, the Orcish Warchief himself. Thrall was the finder and leader of the New Horde formed during the Third Great War against the Burning Legion and one of the most powerful fighters alive to this day. The strange man walked up to the throne and bowed before the Warchief in respect.

"I come with urgent news." He said gravely to the Warchief.

"Ah yes, Razien." Thrall spoke remembering the identity of the strange man. "I suppose this has something to do with the activities in Felfire Hill my friend?"

"That's affirmative." The man, Razien spoke. "The demons in that region are beginning to grow restless. The Infernals are drastically increasing in numbers and the Felguards have begun to approach outside the fortified bridges. I think it's just as you expected great Warchief. Several foresters lost their lives to those monstrosities not too long ago."

"Yes, I was afraid of this." Thrall replied solemnly, resting his head on his hands. "If they carry on like that they'll surely attack Splintertree Post. And that will definitely not be the end of it…"

"Yea," Razien nodded understandingly. "The Legion remnants are just as if their ready to revolt."

"That might just be it." Thrall figured, "With the re-opening of the Portal and most of our forces sent to Outland, they must be utilizing the opportunity to destroy us from within our homelands." Thrall looked down at his warhammer, the gift given to him so long ago by Orgrim Doomhammer, a friend who had aided Thrall and the orcs to restart their long lost civilization and to put an end to their suffering in the Legion's hands. "Still, we cannot just supply our guards to Ashenvale, if so then Orgrimmar could fall under attack from another party."

Razien looked down on the floor for a while. He then considered his own suggestion for the defense of Splintertree Post. "May I consult Sylvanas for additional forces? The Apothecarium's been pretty busy preparing some additional Abominations for…"

"No, that would take too long." Thrall interjected. "I guess I have no choice but to send a portion of our guard to Ashenvale. We may have our defenses lowered, but it's the best chance we have."

"I guess you're right." Razien nodded in response. "I'll report back to Splintertree Post for now. I'll be waiting for our troops to arrive."

"I trust you'll join the battle yourself Razien?" Thrall asked out of curiosity, knowing that the man before him was one of the most efficient killers on the Horde's side.

Razien chuckled in amusement to the Warchief's words. "The last thing I need to fear of is dying, great Warchief." He replied. "Afterall, I'm already dead." He concluded presenting his almost fleshless right arm, thus revealing himself to be of the Forsaken faction.

Razien was an infamous Rogue from Undercity and had been one of its establishers during the time the Forsaken took control of Tirisfal Glades. He was likely a young man when among the living. His hair had turned a sickly green color with remnants of black under the masses of moss and fungus. The flesh around his stomach, arms and legs had decayed so far as to expose the yellowish bones from within, the only remaining flesh existing on his head, chest, shoulders, waist and feet. He was clad in an old ragged brown leather vest with shoulder pads that had seen much better days. His pants were made of gray fabric which was torn under the knees and held tightly against his legs by leather strings and were held up by a tight black belt. A pair of thick black leather gloves adorned his otherwise bony hands, his claw-like fingertips having burst through them. His ragged brown boots weren't tough enough to keep his "toe-claws" hidden either. Worn on his face was a tough black runecloth-woven mask that his face from the nose below. A foul odor also permeated from his body that when sniffed too much would make even an ogre nauseous. Scabbards were placed on the left side and the back of his belt which brandished his two tools of death, his trusted daggers.

-

As soon as dawn had broken, Joras along with his new acquaintances Daekken, Squatt and Valaj carried on to Ashenvale Forest. Joras continued to lug the heavy silken sack of loot while Daekken walked right behind him with Squatt in tow. Valaj was having trouble maneuvering around the jagged rocks and gnarled roots due to having a swig right after waking up, gulping down her entire flask in the process.

The three travelers eventually got out of the ruined and charred forests to an opening. During the short stroll the three had been attacked by aggressive giant spiders and a juvenile wyvern, but they were all either slain or driven away. The opening revealed a cave on the mountainside.

"We're not too far off now." Daekken spoke informatively.

"I know. It's not exactly my first time here." Joras replied. "Let's say we keep going and hopefully leave the whore behind…" Joras spoke out of contempt for Valaj who had attempted to frisk him while asleep.

"I know how tempting it sounds to you, but as a part of nature herself, we can't leave her." Daekken replied insistently and rather incisively.

"Fine, but you better keep that slut away from me Daekken!" Joras spoke almost threateningly to the larger tauren who didn't appear affected by the harsh words. Joras tread into the mouth of the cave, secretly shedding off his glove to reveal a silver ring around his left arm's middle finger. "My loyalty lies to only one woman and her alone…" He declared in his thoughts and pulled his armored glove back on.

The cave quickly darkened as the three Horde members tread deeper inside it. The air within it was damp and cool, a nice change from the dry and somewhat dusty air of Stonetalon Mountains. Occasional splashes emanated from stepping on puddles, but the three did little to mind them, one wearing boots, one having hooves and one's feet being bare always. The cave seemed devoid of any wildlife, possibly since most creatures within Ashenvale were arboreal. Soon without any trouble, the three emerged from the exit of the cave and found themselves in the beautiful lush forests of Ashenvale.

The hue was rich in the air with dawn having risen just a few hours ago. Gargantuan trees reached far beyond even the mountain walls into the sky, casting an eternal shadow upon the land. It was one of the few remaining night elven territories left in Azeroth, so the native elves took especially good care of the forests ever since the great war against the Burning Legion. At present it was common for the orcs of Durotar and the local night elves to spark conflicts as the orcs have been foresting in the area for a long time now.

"This place never ceases to amaze me." Daekken spoke as he admired the scenery around him. Even Squatt appeared to agree with his master as the plainstrider looked around in amazement.

"Yea, sure." Joras replied nonchalantly. "Let's just get to Splintertree Post. I've been lugging this sack for two days now." He added as he carried on stepping through the lush vegetation.

Daekken and Squatt soon followed behind. Valaj in turn opened her flask and took a swig, or at least attempted to. She looked at the flask in horror as she turned it upside down to receive only a few droplets.

"I'm outta booze!!" She screamed, causing some of the local wildlife to fly or dash in fear. "For da spirits' sakes I'm outta booze!!"

"Good!" Joras retorted sharply from afar. "Maybe when you're sober you'll actually act rationally…" He grumbled, the presence of the troll girl getting on his nerves even worse as time carried on.

-

Gilgatt continued pushing through the thick vegetation, still looking for Joldis Deathscythe. As he'd left the town of Astranaar utilizing the Sentinel's given information, he'd been trekking throughout the forest all night without rest. The ordeal did little to take a toll on the experienced paladin, but the vain search had begun to annoy him seeing as the Sentinel's information was obsolete.

"Stupid wench…" He growled bashing aside some branches of the undergrowth. "If I ever get my hands on that double-crossing bitch I'll forget my decency and murder her!" He almost let out in a holler, scaring away some nearby animals.

He carried on treading through the undergrowth until he finally made it to a clearing, but he wasn't prepared what was awaiting there. Three elvish humanoids stood near him, only unlike normal night elves, they bore demonic traits. Their body from waist down was coated in fire-red fur and their feet were hooves. Also their arms were much thicker than normal and bore vicious claws on their fingertips. The hair on their head had seemed to have grown into a practical fiery mane and a pair of goat horns grew from their head. These creatures were named the satyr, demonic variations of night elves that during the War of the Ancients fell to the Legion's corruption.

The three satyrs turned towards Gilgatt, hateful gazes present in their faces. Their eyes glowed as red as blood as they began to threateningly approaching him. Gilgatt's first response was to draw his large spiked mace from his back and take a defensive stance. The draenei then began to chant some strange words until he was bathed in a bright light that shone from his own person. The satyrs readied their claws and were ready to attack Gilgatt.

"It's time for you to die, worthless maggot!" One of the satyrs spoke with an unworldly demonic tone.

"You're the maggots, demon!" Said a disembodied voice, causing the three satyrs to be taken aback. Two of them began to look around vigilantly while one kept his attention on Gilgatt.

Just then a being came charging out from the undergrowth in a swift dash. A sword blade found its way through one of the satyrs, a burst of blood shooting from the demon's back. The demonic elf wailed pathetically as the sword twisted in his body and came out from his side. In an instant the satyr was covered in blue flames. The satyr continued wailing in pain as it flayed its arms wildly trying to put out the fire, but it took only seconds to succumb to the grave wound in its stomach and the flames.

The other two satyrs looked on in horror as their companion's body slowly burned away into a pile of charcoal. Gilgatt took the opportunity to lift his mighty mace and bring it crushing down the satyr closest to him, causing a big burst of blood to shoot out, staining hiss leg armor and hooves as well as the surrounding vegetation. The third satyr appeared to have become preoccupied with something else as it viciously swung its demon claws at its target. It didn't manage long as its opponent slashed across its chest, killing it and making its body burst into blue flames like the last time. The entity responsible for slaying the demonic elf sheathed a sturdy sword onto his back, looking down as the remnants of the satyr burned out of existence.

"Y-you," Gilgatt stuttered as he saw the person standing before him.

He was a tall night elf male. He bore a wide frame, indicating he was physically powerful. His skin was a shade of silver and white and had shamrock green hair that was formed into long bangs off the sides of his face and tied to a high ponytail at the back of his head. His eyes shone in a bright shade of amber. He was clad in a bronze chestplate with matching plate pants, plate covered gauntlets and boots and a bronze belt with decorative rings emblazoned onto it. He also wore a metallic headband with a blue jewel in its portion on his forehead, which also seemed to help keeping his two bangs out of the way of his eyes. He also had a dark-purplish winged cape with golden trimmings. A very distinguishing feature was a long scar over his right eye.

"Sir Joldis Deathscythe I presume." Gilgatt spoke authoritatively.

The night elf glanced at the draenei with little interest, yet was kind enough to reply, "Affirmative." with a young, yet experienced-sounding voice.

"I am Captain Gilgatt of the Order of Light." Gilgatt introduced with a salute, "It has come to our attention of your past endeavors sir Deathscythe and therefore have right to come with me."

Joldis looked at his newfound acquaintance with a raised brow.

"You have been ordered by the High Council to assist me in a mission of utmost importance to the blood elven lands of Quel'thalas." Gilgatt explained, presenting a scroll, "This contains orders from the council which specifically apply to you."

Joldis said nothing and turned his back to Gilgatt rudely. "I don't have time for playing bodyguard sir captain." He replied uncaringly, eliciting an angry cringe from Gilgatt.

"You ungrateful oaf!" Gilgatt retorted furiously, "Do you realize your refusal to aid me could get you in very deep trouble with the Divine himself?!"

"I have my own concerns right now sir captain." Joldis replied more calmly.

"Well, once the Council hears about this rude refusal, your concerns will continue to worsen sir Deathscythe." Gilgatt spoke threateningly. "And I assure you, I won't hesitate to incapacitate you…" He added, presenting his large mace threateningly.

Joldis looked over his shoulder towards the hulking draenei. Despite being allied with the particular race, Joldis could have cared less if he had to fight against this man, Gilgatt. His own concerns were far graver in his own opinion than facing the so called 'wrath of the Divine'. However, having recalled the draenei mention something about the lands of the infamous blood elves began to catch his interest.

"Alright sir captain, here's my proposal," The night elf warrior spoke, turning to face Gilgatt formally, "I'll assist you in whatever you wish to do in Quel'thalas, but first you must help me in rescuing my wife."

Gilgatt scoffed at the last sentence all of a sudden, "We don't have time to play hero sir Deathscythe. This mission is of utmost importance!"

Suddenly Gilgatt found Joldis Deathscythe's gauntleted hand gripping him tightly around his throat. The elf pulled the draenei towards him and glared at him straight in the eyes. To Gilgatt, those eyes showed no signs of mercy or compassion. They burned in their natural amber color, like the burning eyes of a demon. The night elf bared his incisors in anger before speaking,

"Never get between me and my wife draenei…" Joldis hissed enraged, "I said I will help you and I usually am a man of my word. But if you belittle the one I care of the most, I assure you, you'll find my sword through your gut!" With that Joldis released his hold on Gilgatt's throat, causing the draenei to begin wheezing and gasping for air added with some hacking coughs. "Now follow me. There's only one place I know where those wretched demons took Jesera…"

After getting his breathing back on track, Gilgatt muttered something under his breath before following Joldis into the undergrowth. So far his mission had been going completely the opposite as he'd planned. Now rather than heading straight to the Barrens into the goblin city of Ratchet, he was stuck in the middle of Ashenvale Forest and was forced to volunteer helping the very person who was supposed to be helping him.

"I swear the council will hear of this…"

-

After a long while of trekking through the beautiful, yet dangerous forestlands, Splintertree Post was finally in sight. Joras let out a sigh of relief knowing he could finally rid himself of the heavy silken bag he'd slung over his shoulder. Perhaps now he can get on with his travels a little easier.

"I'm finally here…" He thought as he walked through the main gate, saluting the two orcish guards in respect as he went.

He was still followed by Daekken, Squatt and Valaj who'd begun to whine ever since she'd run out of her alcoholic beverage. Joras went straight to a vendor and presented his wares.

"There's something amiss here…" Daekken said quietly, but loud enough for Joras to hear him.

Joras had taken note of the guards appearing more wary and some of the younger recruits seemed awfully jittery. He even took note of a Forsaken who'd walked past them early on in the forest. The undead man was leaning next to a leg of a guard tower, tossing a finely honed, curved-bladed dagger into the air and skillfully catching it continuously by its hilt.

"Yea, now that you mention it." Joras replied, but couldn't understand what might have caused the tension in Splintertree Post. "You don't think the night elves are attacking do you?"

"No," Daekken replied shaking his head, "Night elves may be formidable, but they don't cast such fear into our people."

"I know what's happening." The tauren vendor Joras was bartering with spoke up. "The demons of Felfire hill have begun to act up."

"Felfire hill?!" Joras replied dumbfounded by the tauren's words. "How's that possible? The demons down there have never been numerous enough to make an assault on our outposts!"

"Well it's been proven otherwise." The vendor replied grimly as he looked through and examined Joras's goods, "The infernals' numbers have grown over the passing few months at a steady rate according to our scouts. And the felguards are getting courageous enough to attack lone travelers through the barricades." He set all of Jora's loot down. "I can offer you nine gold pieces for this."

"Fine by me," Joras shrugged, earning a handful of shining gold coins. He then turned and walked past Deakken.

"Where are you going if you don't mind me asking?" Daekken asked out of curiosity.

"Felfire Hill of course." Joras replied nonchalantly.

"Are you serious?!" Daekken asked surprised, "You're willing to go alone even after what you've just heard?!"

Joras nodded, "Let's just say I've got some debts to pay before moving on." Joras replied mysteriously, afterwards continuing to head towards the gates of Splintertree. But then he felt the tauren's powerful arm grip him by the shoulder.

"I'll go with you." Daekken said promptly with a nod.

Joras raised a brow in response to Daekken's demeanor. "I had no idea you liked me that much."

Daekken snorted as a small grin appeared on his bovine face, "You are an interesting fellow Joras. That's the only reason."

Joras chuckled slightly, "Well, a good as reason as any." He shrugged. "Sure. But can we leave the drunkard behind this time?" He asked with a glint of hope in his green eyes.

"Shut da hell up 'andsome!" Joras cringed as the drunken troll shaman approached, her words sounding frustrated and very groggy. "I ran outta booze and now I gots a splittin' headache!"

"That's not very surprising. I happen to know the dangers of consuming excessive amounts of alcohol despite coming from one of the most sober civilizations." Joras boasted spitefully towards the hang-over developing troll.

Valaj stared at Joras with a blank look on her face, "I'll let dat go cuz you're hot…" She mumbled incoherently, possibly being unaware of the advantages of elves possessing long ears.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that…" Joras murmured turning away from Valaj. "Anyway, let's head on over and see what our 'friends' from the Nether are up to." He concluded and began heading out of Splintertree Post, followed closely by Daekken and Squatt, Valaj unsteadily stumbling after them while letting out various obscenities referring to her headache.

Razien raised a brow in curiosity looking at the diverse trio leaving the Orcish outpost. He tossed his dagger once more, skillfully catching it and twirling it between his bony fingers and fastening it securely into its scabbard.

"Hmm," He mused incoherently, "This could be interesting…" He considered whether to secretly follow to trio of adventurers or remain as promised in the outpost in wait of the forces of Orgrimmar. After a brief time of contemplating, he decided to stay true to his words to the warchief and remain in Splintertree Post.

-

"Just here in the name of the naaru are you taking us?!" Gilgatt asked complainingly as he swatted another branch out of his way. So far he and his new acquaintance, the notorious warrior Joldis Deatscythe, had been trekking through the forest in what the young night elf had mentioned of being satyr territory.

"Quiet," Joldis hissed suddenly, "We're in their territory now, so we have to be extra vigilant if you value your life sir captain." He explained briefly and knelt down into the cover of some exotic-green bushes. He forced aside some thick, leafy branches, granting him the perfect view of Ashenvale's largest satyr settlement, pertinently named Satyrnaar.

Satyrnaar was the Azeroth satyrs' main base of operations, located dangerously near the demon infested Felfire Hill. The satyrs were worshippers of the dreaded Burning Legion which during the battle at Mt. Hyjal about five years ago joined the demons in battle against the allegiance determined on destroying the demon lord Archimonde. This battle would later end in the defeat of Archimonde through the efforts of Malfurion Stormrage, who used the aid of the ancients to destroy Archimonde, but in the process wounding the World Tree, the very core of the night elves' power of immortality. During his short visit to Ashenvale yesterday he got word from the Sentinels of the demonic activities taking place at Felfire Hill, eliciting the feeling that the satyrs were aiding them. The Burning Legion remnants therefore were attempting on commencing a full sweep across Ashenvale, which would forever damage the purity of the untainted Ashenvale Forests, turning it into the hellish abomination like Felwood located north of Ashenvale, the very site which was marred by the Legion during the battle.

"I won't allow the Legion to ruin our lands…" Joldis whispered determinedly, gazing down at the demonic elves with contempt. He kept a sharp eye out for any signs of his wife Jesera. He silently prayed to Elune desperately in hopes of his wife being still among the living.

Several of the satyrs in the rundown ruins had gathered around an infernal hexagram drawn onto the ground. The hexagram appeared a shade of deep crimson, indicating the substance used to draw it onto the stony ground was non other than blood, most likely of captives from both the Horde and the Alliance. Several satyr warlocks waved their clawed hands in the air and chanted words that neither Joldis nor Gilgatt could comprehend. Dark aura began to emanate from their palms and the hexagram as time passed on.

"What are they doing?" Joldis wondered out of curiosity and mostly dread. Despite having minor knowledge of any forms of the dark arts, his instincts told him the satyrs were attempting a dark ritual.

Gilgatt suddenly gasped upon noticing a dark rift suddenly bursting into the sky just above the hexagram. A dark fog began to seep through it, something which filled the draenei paladin with inexplicable fear.

"They're attempting a summoning!" Gilgatt whispered harshly.

Joldis looked at Gilgatt with a look of despair on his face, "You don't mean the ritual of summoning demons from the Nether?"

"That's exactly what I mean, see for yourself…" He replied pointing towards the rift.

On cue several black and reddish, four-legged creatures began pouring out of the rift. They bore long snouts, single sturdy claws on their short limbs, two bony horns and two black appendages on both sides of their bodies.

"Fel stalkers…" Joldis muttered, having had his share of experience fighting different species of demons in the past. Just then something else caught his eye.

Lying, hopefully unconscious on the ground near a set of ruins was a night elf woman. Even from the considerable distance, Joldis could perfectly make out her bright pink skin and long, dark blue hair and brownish leather clothing.

"Jesera!" Joldis gasped seeing his wife lying there in the midst of the satyrs.

Just then three satyrs approached the unconscious night elf woman. Joldis grimaced in anger and gripped his sword, but held himself back from rushing at the satyrs, for it would only draw the other demons' attentions, not to mention danger his wife's wellbeing. He still prepared for a lunge by gripping the ground with his other hand and hopefully grab Jesera and run.

"What shall we do with the girl?" One of the satyrs asked with a deep, raspy voice. Joldis was capable of faintly hearing their words thanks to his heightened sense of hearing granted by his long ears. He perked his ears up attempting to listen in more accurately.

"Where did you find this whore in the first place?" Another satyr asked, not sounding very pleased of his companions. "We've got preparations of utmost importance and you go pillaging, bringing back some worthless pile of flesh!" The satyr growled, threatening with a motion to hit one of his cohorts.

"Sorry, but terrorizing those stinking night elves is just too good to pass up." The first satyr replied unabashed. "We found this with some male elf. We thought we'd darken his mood a little."

"And not to mention she is a nice catch…" The third satyr spoke. Just then the second satyr slapped him on the face.

"Your stupid urges are much too peripheral you fool!" The second satyr shouted furiously. "I want this bitch disposed of." The satyr demanded jerking a clawed finger towards unconscious elf.

Just then the female night elves eyes shot open and she delivered a bone shattering kick into the crotch of the third satyr. The demonic elf wailed in pain while the last two were simply dumbfounded upon what just occurred. Suddenly the lithe night elf did something none of the demonic satyrs expected. The shape of the beautiful elven changed into that of a hulking beast. He body became large and became covered in purplish fur. Her arms and legs took the shapes of animal paws, all four of them equipped with large claws. Her face became narrow and elongated. The night elf had completely changed shape to resemble that of a ferocious dire bear. The only distinctive feature that made her stand out from normal dire bears was her elongated elfish ears. The beast that replaced the beautiful girl bellowed in animalistic fury and swatted two of the satyrs aside and made a sluggish dash towards the gates of Satyrnaar.

"The captive is escaping!" One of the injured satyrs yelled, though several of the encampments satyrs were already aware of the occurrence.

The transformed bear ran as fast as its large body enabled it, but before it could even hope of reaching the exits a net was tossed by a pair of satyrs standing atop a rock formation within the encampment. The bear's large paws became entangled in the sturdy net and tripped with a loud thump.

Joldis gasped in fear as the satyrs began to surround what was supposedly his wife. Gilgatt could only look on dumbstruck after seeing the normally lithe and curvaceous night elf transform into the very beast that had taken her place.

"Is this the power of the druid?" He wondered intrigued despite his unashamed dislike for the night elves.

Just then before the satyr had gotten atop the dire bear, the large beast reverted back into the beauty of a night elf, but then her form was once again replaced by another one of nature's great beasts. A feline creature took her place, bearing a coat of a shade of indigo. The feline made a quicker dash towards the exit, but was unexpectedly pelted by blasts of dark energy and fireballs. The feline tumbled forward before reverting back into a night elf.

"Jesera! No!" Joldis gasped much louder after seeing his beloved struck down.

The young night elf weakly looked up, seeing the wicked shape of a single satyr standing over her. The vile demon raised its vicious claws, about to deliver the killing blow.

"Die you worthless sack of flesh!" The satyr roared enraged.

"No!" Suddenly Joldis came jumping down into the encampment and charged through the other satyrs. Before the satyrs could react the blade of Joldis's sword had found its way through one's chest. The demon roared in anguish as its body burst into blue flames. "Leave her alone you wretched monsters!" The night elf warrior bellowed and took a defensive stance in front of Jesera.

"Joldis…" Jesera groaned wearily as a single tear trickled down her beautiful face.

One of the satyrs was taken aback upon noticing the strange weapon held by the night elf, a two-handed longsword, but with a very unique shape. It was straight-bladed and adorned with demonic appendages on both side of the pommel. A symbol fashioned into a vicious skull was etched right in between the pommel's appendages. The sword shone in a shade of bluish and much to the satyrs' interest a familiar magical aura emanated from deep within the blade.

"It's him!" The satyr yelled infuriated, "The one who wields the Soul Reaver! Joldis Deathscythe!"

Joldis took no interest in his fame. His sword's shine vanished, but then his sword began to glow in a new aura, one of blood red. Though no opponent was close enough to his striking range Joldis performed a swift, yet mighty wing, somehow projecting a dark energy bolt towards the satyr, which as struck square in the chest and got propelled several meters backwards.

"Don't just stand there you fools! Kill him!" A satyr roared and began to approach Joldis and Jesera.

Many of the satyrs not preoccupied in the summoning began to attack the lone night elf. This marked the time for Gilgatt and he jumped down from hiding into the satyr encampment, glowing in his bright aura once again. Rather than attacking the satyrs assaulting his companion, he rushed to lay waste to the satyr warlocks responsible for the summoning. One of them was immediately dispatched with one swing of his mighty war hammer. The remaining warlocks summoned forth small grayish demons with frail skinny bodies, large ears, long noses and burning eyes, known to most denizens of Azeroth as an imp.

"Bah!" Gilgatt spat in belittlement, "Your foul power shall not crumble the wrath and might of the Naaru! Die you Legion scum!" Gilgatt bellowed stomping the ground with his hoof, causing the earth around him to burst with light energy.

-

Joras unexpectedly froze in place with a look of surprise on his face. Daekken was quick to notice his friend's predicament and began to shake him from his trance-like state.

"What's wrong?" Daekken asked in friendly concern.

"I just sensed power…" Joras replied uneasily, evoking his ancient power of sensing any form of magic, another side-effect from lengthened exposure to the mystic Sunwell. "And in such a great degree…" He looked up into a particular direction, which was swerving left from their current direction. "It must be a magical conflict."

"It could be the Legion." Daekken stated solemnly.

"No, it has to be the Legion," Joras interjected, "Night elves don't rely on arcane powers. Only magi, warlocks and demonic sources can expel primordial magic." He hastily drew his two-handed saber and glanced at Daekken. "It's going to be dangerous Daekken. You up for this?"

Daekken responded by un-strapping his large mace from his back. He looked at Squatt who simply flapped his vestigial wings excitedly. Deakken smirked before looking back at Joras.

"We're with you," He spoke with determination.

"Alright, let's get going." Joras concluded before breaking into a run, following his senses towards the source of the arcane energies.

"Valaj, come on!" Daekken called out gruffly as he ran after Joras with Squatt running a few feet ahead of him.

Valaj drowsily looked up in her seemingly zonked condition. She saw Daekken and Squatt's forms getting smaller and smaller a second, indicating to her that he was leaving somewhere. Just then Valaj drew her dual skull maces and ran off following Daekken as if something had just drawn her towards both Joras' and Daekken's objective.

The three travelers were quick to find their way into Satyrnaar. A very unpleasant sight unfolded before them as soon as they ran through its non fortified gates. Several satyrs were teaming around a lone warrior clad in bronze armor, who valiantly fought against the attackers with a two-handed sword. They could clearly see the warrior defending a hopefully unconscious woman lying on the ground. Farther away a bulky figure clad in silvery gold rimmed armor and armed with a vicious looking war hammer.

"Looks like those three need our help!" Joras conjectured and rushed into battle with his sword supported onto his shoulders.

Joras closed the distance between himself and the unconscious woman who he then recognized as a pink-skinned, blue-haired night elf clad in dark brown leather garments. Her outfit consisted that of a light brown vest with druidic markings etched into its surface with wooden shoulder pads tied onto it. The top was undoubtedly made by an expert leather worker as it showed no signs of tear and seemed to do well in keeping the wearer warm, something assumed by the furry inside layer that could be seen since the midsection of the night elf was bared, exposing a slim, curvaceous stomach and waist. Two belts were strapped across her stomach and waist with one of the holding a long pole with green jewels attached to both of its ends. She also wore greenish brown pants with a bright brown saw-like pattern traveling down from its waistline to the knees and tall boots with wooly opening covered her legs and her hands were protected by metal coated bracelets and black fingerless gloves. Also engraved on the night elf's face were beautiful tattoos painted over her eyelids and going down to her cheeks, reminiscent to purple flower petals.

Joras closed his eyes and held out his free hand. He began to concentrate deeply before a blinding light began to surround him. The light seemed to transfer itself through his hand and onto the night elf woman. She instantly let out a weary groan as her eyes slowly fluttered open. She slowly rose up to her knees before looking up at he savior. The instant she noticed the green glow of Joras' eyes she stiffened with a gasp of fear.

Joras held out his hand non-threateningly before speaking, "Don't worry, I won't hurt you." He spoke reassuringly. "Come, we must get you out of here!"

The night elf stood up in perfect health, the light seeming to have healed her of her injuries. It was no surprise of course since paladins, despite their expertise in swordsmanship and the power to use the Light's energy to cause harm; they were most recognized for their power to heal grievous and fatal injuries in an instant. In most severe cases they could even resurrect the recently departed.

She looked up at Joras and bowed in gratitude before speaking, "I thank you for your help sir paladin, but I will not leave my husband's side." She then turned to face the oncoming platoons of satyrs.

Joras raised a brow, looking at the larger warrior standing a short distance away. Though obscenely outnumbered by the demonic creatures, the green haired, bronze armored night elf showed no signs of fear, rather determination as he expertly sliced and diced any satyr that came his way. The only confusing point of the battle was that whenever he chopped a satyr into bits, the demons would spontaneously combust with blue flames. Also he sensed a strange presence coming from the night elf, something very dark, a shrouded spark of energy. Perhaps this particular warrior was more than just brawn and aggression. He however had to cease contemplating as a misfired fireball flew straight at him. He defensively held out his hand and the fireball exploded only inches away from his palm, as if an invisible dome was placed around Joras.

"Don't stand still Joras! You'll only present yourself as a target!" Daekken shouted harshly as he fired three arrows at the same time towards one satyr which instantly fell as the finely crafted arrows pierced its torso.

Joras saw as the drunkard troll Valaj went running into battle. He at first scoffed, thinking she'd gone off the deep end, but was surprised as Valaj drew a wooden instrument strapped onto her wait and held it out. Few satyrs standing before her were suddenly trapped as the earth around them burst from under their hoofed feet. The troll then bashed ones head into a blooded mess with one of her maces and quickly moved onto the next.

"Totems…" he mused and ran into battle himself, beginning to shine with a bright aura.

Joras swung his elegant saber towards an attacking satyr, gravely injuring it as it fell to the ground in pain. He jerked his arm towards another while shouting strange chants, causing the demon to burst with a fiery flash.

Screams of pain and fury, profanities, ridicules, all came from within Satyrnaar as the battle raged on, tens of satyrs already lying dead or gravely injured on the once green grass that began to be painted in blood. The six combatants of the Horde and the Alliance took no concern for the fact of fighting this one battle alongside each other. Gilgatt didn't seem to mind as a troll shaman rushed and bludgeoned a satyr that attempted to flee, nor did Joras mind of the night elf woman he rescued blasting a few incoming satyrs with green bolts of lightning-like energy from her hands. Daekken took the least concern of whose side he was fighting as he kept his attention on the few satyr that attempted to gang up on him, but one was instantly choked to death as Squatt attacked from behind, grabbing a satyr by its throat with a steel-firm hold. Daekken simply swatted another away with his large mace. He was surprised as another fell to an arrow that seemed to have come from nowhere.

High in the trees an unknown figure stood gracefully atop a sturdy branch, brandishing a wooden bow. He finger was kept pointed out at all times as a means of targeting. Once the person saw a clear shot, she let loose another arrow which struck a satyr in the temple and burst out from the other side of its head. It took only a breath's time as another satyr was picked off by the stranger's arrows, followed by yet another. Daekken was the only one to notice, having trained his senses to their peak condition. He took the strangers presence as a good sign as he continued focusing on the remaining satyr which began to resort to magic.

"Retreat!" Screamed one of the few remaining satyr, his words getting instantly through as his companions began to flee.

"You're not going anywhere!" Joras retorted to the very satyr that sounded the retreat and lunged at him, his blade instantly finding its place in the satyr's chest. The satyr coughed up obscene amounts of blood that appeared redder than any normal creature's. But just as Joras was sure for the demon to succumb to the wound, it began to chuckle weakly. "What's so funny?" Joras asked sharply.

The demon wheezed in pain, "You fools… You may have destroyed our encampment…" he coughed up more blood before carrying on, "But you are too late… We were only serving as the… the producers…"

"What are you getting at?" Joras inquired raising a brow in confusion.

The demon's mouth began to ooze with blood as it drew its last deep breath, "You can't stop us. Soon this land, and all of Azeroth will fall… Our master will finally arrive… the day of lord… Kil'jaeden…" With that more blood poured out from the satyr's mouth, indicating Joras to pry his sword from the demon's chest.

"By the Sunwell…" Joras mused in terror from the demon's words. He didn't notice as the draenei who he'd fought alongside came quietly towards him with his war hammer held up high.

Daekken instantly came ramming his mace into the draenei's stomach, slamming the slightly smaller humanoid away from Joras and stood defensively in front of him. Joras then took note of the night elf warrior approaching him threateningly. The sword wielded by him suddenly changed color from dark blue to a prominent color of crimson red. Joras quickly took a defensive stance holding his own sword vertically before him. Before the night elf could get in striking range, a duo of arrows darted from above and found their marks close to the night elf's feet. The night elf looked up just in time to see something jump down high from the trees. Unexpectedly the being seemed to sprout radiant fiery wings and elegantly glided down. The being in the trees however revealed itself not as a winged demon as presumed by the night elf warrior, but as a frail human-like being with fire red hair. What served as her wings came circling down and defensively positioned itself before her.

"Don't you dare lay one finger on my future husband..." She spoke bitterly with her elegant golden longbow trained directly at the night elf's face.

Joras's long elvish ears perked up at the sound of that voice. It sounded very familiar to him. It was soft, yet sounded very intent and determined. Only one he knew of had this specific tone. He studied the mysterious female intently. Her fire red hair, long enough to hand down her shoulder was adorned with a beautiful green, gold rimmed headband. Her body was slender and athletic, adorned with a greenish brown leather chest plate and under it a green, gold rune decorated shirt that exposed her stomach and arms. A pair of silver mail leggings covered her long legs, the right side one having a scabbard strapped to the thigh which held a dagger of considerate size. A blue belt was adorned around her waist which also held a scabbard with a similar dagger held in it. A pair of long reddish brown boots covered her feet and golden bracelets worn around her wrists cast a faint shine even under the thick canopy of Ashenvale. Her hands were protected by ragged black leather gloves with their fingers cut off to ease her aim and allowed her to grip her longbow more firmly. Her eyes shone with the familiar green glow and had a face as elegant as a goddess'.

"Darling…" The night elf warrior's muscular arm was suddenly pulled on by the night elf woman who Joras had healed prior to him joining the battle. "You mustn't." She spoke with an expression of sorrow on her face.

"But Jesera, they're from the Horde." Joldis replied bitterly in common language, still intent on slaying the blood elf paladin who stood before him.

"That man saved her life, you should be grateful for that." Daekken retorted in common glancing over his wide shoulder, "We all helped you fight off the satyr, yet you repay us with attempts of taking our lives…" He spoke with an aggressive growl present in his usually calm voice.

The night elf said nothing in response, obviously not having a good enough reason other than being on the side of the Alliance. Daekken personally hated how the people among his faction and the Alliance could never get along. They were constantly fighting for land, riches and resources.

Another common reason for conflicts was what all the different races had endured in the past with each other. The orcs were still abhorred for their part in the Legion's mission of conquest before being discarded and regaining their shamanistic culture. The trolls were hated for their ancestral heritage of voodoo and cannibalism which they abandoned upon joining the Horde. The tauren were perhaps the least feared by the Alliance, but having joined the Horde in respect for the orcs, they too were marked by the Alliance as savage beasts that deserved to die. The undead were feared by the Alliance in reference how their brethren in the undead Scourge brought chaos in the northern lands of Lordaeron. Their frightening appearance was enough to make the Alliance hate them to their heart's content and only managed to survive by joining the Horde originally by an act of convenience. The blood elves were originally never hated by the Alliance. Blood elves became bitter of the humans when during the conflicts with the Scourge the human Grand Marshal Garithos, a cruel racist who despised anything non-human, used the blood elves as cannon fodder. He later condemned the entire blood elf civilization into execution.

The adventurers from the two different factions continued staring each other down. None would dare make a move as they knew the stand-off could just as easily prove fatal to their side rather than their opponents'. The stare down abruptly ended upon an unworldly roar that emanated somewhere within the forest.

"The Legion!" Joras gasped remembering the original reason they headed off into the demonic areas of Ashenvale Forest.

-

They came out in an all-out fury through the forest, their fiery feet burning anything they touched into ashes within second. Several demonic Infernals, a species of demon created from volcanic rocks formed into a slightly humanoid shape held together by what looked like poles formed of fire. They ravaged the forest and terrified its inhabitants. Bears along with their cubs fled, birds flew off to safety and any other small animal sect refuge from underground or within trees that unfortunately were immediately set ablaze.

Near the borders that separated the demonic lands from Splintertree Post stood Warchief Thrall and his platoon of orcish combatants consisting of robust warriors and a small group of his loyal shamans. Aiding the Orgrimmar forces were the guards of Splintetree Post and a few tauren who originally kept watch at Ashenvale's borders. They saw how the demonic beasts came rushing through the forests, tearing apart any vegetation unintentionally as they were solely ordered to lay waste to all settlements they would find.

Thrall's soldiers showed no signs of fear staring into the face of their former captors. On the contrary, the sight of the unworldly creatures did nothing else but enrage the orcs. They never feared their past captors now nor will they ever. Thrall stood forth and swung his hammer in the demons' direction.

"Fighters of the Horde, let us vanquish these fiends once and for all! Never will we crumble beneath the feet of those who once used us!" He roared with un-hindered determination, "Strength and honor for the Horde!!"

The orcs in unison shouted a war chorus before in all their fury headed into battle. Axes and maces at hand and with newfound courage bestowed upon them by their warchief, they rushed into combat with no signs of fear. Soon they met the demons and the battle began.

"This isn't good…" Joras thought as he saw the platoon of demons and orcs clashing in mortal combat for the land of Ashenvale.

The stand-off between the adventurers of the Horde and Alliance stopped as soon as the Infernals came into view. They all showed their own contempt for the demonic constructs. Joldis and Jesera stood worried for the fate of their ancestors' lands, something their race had valiantly fought for in the past to ensure they would never be separated from their beloved forests. Daekken couldn't bare to see nature marred by the Legion, for as a tauren and a loyal disciple of Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof, he had vowed to protect the blessings of the Earth Mother with his life if necessary. Gilgatt had an immeasurable sense of hatred for anything associated with his race's sworn enemy. Millennia ago his own race was manipulated by the Legion itself to join their unholy crusade of bringing chaos and disarray to the nether.

Joras turned to everyone, though feeling uneasy what response he would get from the acquaintances from the Alliance from his suggestion, "We have to stop those demons before all of Ashenvale becomes a giant pile of ashes." He spoke up in perfect common, "Their base of operations is on Felfire Hill, so if we work together and defeat their leader, those Infernals will be harmless."

Just then he felt the night elf warrior Joldis' hand grip him tightly around his blue undershirt and was pulled face-to-face in front of the angry elf who had bared his animalistic fangs. "If you think I'll help you blood elf, you've got another thing coming to you…" Just as he finished his words he felt the touch of cold steel press against his neck. He turned his eyes towards the blood elven woman who'd jumped down from the trees earlier, casting a threatening glare from her arcane energy emanating eyes.

"Get your hand off my beloved." She demanded calmly and straightforwardly with one of her large daggers at hand.

"Um, if I may have a word in this…" Spoke up the young night elf woman, revealed as druid Jesera, the wife of Joldis. "I just wanted to say that I full heartedly agree with sir…" She looked at Joras with a questioning expression.

"Joras," Joras replied instantly, "Joras Sunbreeze." He affirmed with a nod.

The blood elf woman glanced at Jesera with an impressed smile, "I like how you control this guy." She spoke amused.

"Well," Jesera replied shyly, also worried about Joldis response to her acting friendly with a blood elf, "He is my husband, so I had to learn how to hold him back, for his own good mostly."

"Jesera…" Joldis hissed with a look of disapproval on his face, but Jesera could only look back at him with a look of sadness and disappointment, which seemed to effectively soften her husband's expression, "Fine…" He sighed in defeat, "I'll aid you for now, but know this blood elf…" He jerked a finger towards Joras, "I'm doing this in the name of my ancestors and for Elune, don't even think that I'll be willing to befriend with the likes of you!"

Gilgatt raised a brow in amusement, "Perhaps this Joldis Deathscythe isn't as foolish as Ioriginally thought…" He secretly thought of his own ends for his mission, "He could prove useful to me in more ways than one…"

"Let's just quit this bickering and get going!" The blood elf girl shouted demandingly, "If we stall for time we'll all be in grave danger!"

The adventurers headed out of Satyrnaar, avoiding the attention of the Infernals. It was now up to Thrall and his forces to defend the rest of Ashenvale while unbeknownst to the warchief a band of a diverse team of heroes was in haste heading for the source of the demonic constructs. Though mortal enemies by morals and history, they all shared the mutual goal of ridding Azeroth's most feared enemy. Would they make it in time to stop the mastermind behind the attack on Ashenvale? Or would Azeroth's time finally be at hand when the Legion finally succeeds on succumbing its most resilient target ever encountered?

-

A/N: Whew. This was a killer of a chapter. Swedish has been trying to rust me in vocabulary, but I will never succumb! Nevah!!! Anyway, I'll be working on RE: Genome next (which once again couldn't be finished this year either thanks to writer's block), with a chapter that's already half-done.

Anyway, I wish a merry Christmas for everyone and a rocking New Year!

Later.


End file.
